LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 9

      Traffic was a bitch. Parking was even worse.

      “Just drop me off,” Vera told Conner after glancing at the dashboard clock for the tenth time in as many minutes.

      He knew she was worried about being late for her shift, convinced her boss was looking for an excuse to fire her after she’d been hauled off by the FBI yesterday. To tell the truth, Conner wished she would get fired. She was better than that job. Did not belong at the Diamond Lounge—or anywhere else she had to bare her breasts to make a decent living.

      Oh, she’d told him all about her lack of education and her stepfather’s Alzheimer’s and thus the need to keep him in an assisted-living facility. Conner understood her reasons. He did. He was just unconvinced she had no other recourse. She’d simply had no one tell her about other options.

      He planned to. As soon as they’d put this FBI mess behind them, he’d show her how she didn’t have to continue in the same vicious cycle as her mother’d been stuck in. There were ways out. To that end, this afternoon he’d paid the bill for the retirement home for the next month. Call it a bonus for her help. That would give her a few weeks’ breathing room to help him. It was the least he could do.

      Actually…it was far more than he should be doing. More than he’d ever done for a client before. He’d always prided himself on staying aloof from the all-too-unfair predicaments life had heaped upon many of his clients…hell, most of his clients. He was a defense attorney. People who did crimes had myriad reasons for committing them, but none of those reasons were fair or happy. Like a doctor with his patients, a good attorney needed to distance himself from the world of hurt he dealt with every day. Treat everyone as a case number, even as he helped them.

      But Vera was different. She affected him like no one ever had. As a representative of the law—and as a man. She was incredibly smart, grounded and determined. Not to mention the hottest woman he’d ever met.

      He was in deep trouble here.

      “Seriously,” she said, “I can walk to the club. It’s just a couple of blocks. It’ll be faster than this mess.”

      No doubt correct. Sundown on the Strip was a giant traffic jam. “All right,” he said, though he didn’t like the notion of her being on her own for even a minute. Whoever was stalking the Tears of the Quetzal was still out there. Conner had checked in with Lex Duncan, but no new leads had turned up. “Promise me you’ll go in through the front of the club, not from the alley.”

      “You know I have to use the stage door,” she said as she ducked under the car’s gull-wing door as it rose to let her out. “Lecherous Lou will have a fit if I—”

      “Tell him you have a new sugar daddy who’s coming to spend lots of money in his club—but only if you walk in through the front entrance.”

      She rolled her eyes and pulled her garment bag from the backseat. “Sugar daddy?”

      He shrugged with a grin. “Sounds better than fairy godmother. ”

      She laughed. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

      Yeah, about her. “More so every minute.”

      He watched her walk away on the tourist-crowded sidewalk in a simple pencil skirt and blouse, and a pair of sexy, do-me shoes that should be illegal, her hips swaying enticingly. Leaving a trail of turning male heads in her wake.

      He wanted to jump out of the car and strangle every one of them for looking at her that way.

      Damn, he was in such deep trouble.

      Traffic barely inched along, so he fell farther and farther behind her. For a moment he lost sight of her in the moving throng. His pulse jacked up. He didn’t like this. He shouldn’t have let her get out of the car. To his relief, she got stuck at a Do Not Walk sign at the next corner and actually obeyed it. Meanwhile his lane jerked forward half a block so he almost caught up with her. She didn’t know it, though, and he smiled at her impatient foot tapping as she waited.

      Suddenly, he noticed someone else watching her. Closely. From the sidewalk just behind her. A man. Tall, muscular, with an olive complexion, thick black hair and a furtive look about him. A familiar furtive look. The guy stepped closer to Vera’s back. Too close. As the man surreptitiously checked the crowd to both sides, Conner saw high cheekbones that gave him an exotic Hispanic or maybe Native American look.

      And then it struck him. It was the man who’d been arguing with Darla! In front of police headquarters!

      Alarm zinged through Conner’s insides. Just as Vera’s stance went straight and rigid. Slowly, she put her hands out to her sides.

      Holy hell! The bastard had a gun to her back!

      Conner leaped from the car and barreled down the street to her aid, knocking people aside, apologizing as he ran. It took him about seven seconds flat to reach her. They were the longest seconds of his life.

      “Hey!” he yelled just before flinging himself onto the douchebag’s back. “Get away from her!” A mistake. The man was quick. He spun, saw Conner and took off, just missing being tackled. Conner managed to avoid mowing down Vera, but when he veered, he slammed into the streetlight post. Stars burst in his head.

      “Conner!” Her voice echoed

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